Second Chances
by Julia9
Summary: *Complete* Based on spoilers for the finale, this fic starts right after my AU version of the battle with the First. Once the dust settles, will Buffy and Spike be able to find happiness?
1. The Battle

The late afternoon sunlight filtered through the blinds, bathing her bedroom in a rosy glow. He opened the door quietly, not sure if she was asleep. Pausing in the doorway, he took an unneeded breath and stared at her lovingly. She was leaning against the pillows he had put underneath her back, propping her limp body into a slight sitting position that was supported by the wooden headboard of her bed. The battle had taken its toll on his golden goddess; her entire body was a tapestry of purplish yellow bruises, angry red gashes, white gauze and taupe adhesive bandages. Despite all her wounds, Spike thought that she had never looked more beautiful.  
  
He crossed the room, perching gently on the edge of her bed, not wanting to disturb her fitful sleep. His fingers brushed an errant lock of blonde hair off her forehead; even in sleep she recognized his feather-light touch, and she let out a soft sigh of pleasure. Tears burned his eyes as he drank in the sight of his beloved, not believing that she was real. The last five days seemed like a lifetime ago and for the first time since the horrific battle with the First, Spike allowed himself to relax. He slipped his long fingers around her tiny hand, relishing the perfect fit of her palm against his, as he thought back over all that had happened.  
  
***********  
  
Black clouds filled the sky, ominous and foreboding, as the small army stood valiantly in front of the gaping gateway to Hell. Buffy stood at the front of the tattered band of heroes, her eyes filled with sympathy and determination. She knew that this was the final battle, the ultimate test, the only thing that mattered anymore. Her army lay before her, a patchwork quilt of fighters, the only allies she had against the First. Buffy took a deep breath, her eyes drifting over the people assembled before her, knowing that this would be the last time they were all together. She cleared her throat, knowing that they only had a few minutes before the First ascended, only a small sliver of time to tell all these people how much she loved them and how thankful she was to have them by her side.  
  
Her eyes flitted from person to person; no amount of words could tell them what they already knew. She started with Giles, moving over to Willow, Xander and Anya. Biting back tears she offered a grim smile to Dawn before locking eyes with each of the potential slayers, starting with Kennedy and ending with the redhead whose name she could never remember. Her gaze shifted to her fellow Chosen One, Faith and a brief smile grazed her lips. Continuing to look over her army, she glanced quickly at Robin Wood who was standing next to the three demon fighters from LA, before staring into the eyes of her first love. A faint sadness flashed over her face before she turned to the man beside her. His blue eyes pierced through hers, an expression of pain and determination; he was ready to die for her cause, to save the world because she had asked him to help. "This is it," she said, addressing her entire army although her eyes never left his face.  
  
Breaking the gaze for an instant, she stared at the people in front of her, memorizing every detail about them. "I know we might not all make it," she began, "but know that we're not going to lose this battle. We will defeat the First, I promise you that." Tossing her hair back defiantly, she continued, "I had a great speech prepared but it's worthless now. We're here to send this thing back to the depths of Hell and I'm not leaving until we do. Now get ready, we have a beast to kill." She turned away from the group, facing the Hellmouth and extended her hand to the man beside her. "I need you," she whispered, so softly that only he could hear her. Spike nodded, "I know. I'll be right there beside you Slayer." A ghost of a smile drifted over her gaunt face, "until the end of the world," she asked hopefully. He smirked, "made a promise to a lady, didn't I?" The Earth began to tremble beneath their feet, indicating the presence of the First Evil and its army of demonic warriors. "If we don't make it, I just wanted you to know.I had to tell you, I want to tell you," she said, her voice rising as the rumblings got worse, "I love you." He smiled broadly, the first real smile she had seen in months, his undead heart doing back flips at the simple declaration. "I love you too," he shouted, kissing her quickly before they turned to meet the impending apocalypse.  
  
The army of the First descended on them in waves, a sea of grayish brown beings that filled every inch of ground. A cacophony of battle sounds filled the air as the Scoobies met their attackers; agonized shrieks, the slapping noise of fist against flesh, anguished screams, the dull thud of metal against bone. Angel and Giles stood back to back, focusing on clearing a path for Buffy and Spike who were making their way towards the First. The potential slayers fought harder then they had known was possible, fueled by fear and adrenaline. Wood stabbed at the minions with his scabbard, staying close to the teenage girls, making sure that they stood a fighting chance. Dawn swung her axe cleanly through the demons, standing close to Anya as the demons kept coming closer. Xander kept his good eye trained on the monsters in front of him, keeping the creatures from disturbing Willow's protection spell. Faith kept up with the battle from her position behind the potentials, the First's army had formed a thick ring around the Scoobies and the enemy was coming out from all sides. Gunn and Wesley stood beside the brunette slayer, shielding Fred who was serving as Willow's magical anchor.  
  
Buffy turned to Spike, "we need to get to the First," she shouted over the noise that surrounded them. He growled in agreement, unconsciously shifting into game face before turning back to the scaly creatures that stood in their way. Leaving Faith to protect the army, the blonde pair made their way through the throng of minions. Behind them, the Hellmouth roared in fury as it was slowly ripped open. Buffy slashed dozens of the ugly creatures with her sword, relishing the ease with which the blade ripped through the air. She watched in horror as the high school exploded once again, revealing the entrance to Hell; Giles had told all of them that the only way to defeat the First was to send it through the gateway. A feral roar tore through the air, bringing her back to the closed fist blows she was raining upon the demon in front of her. Spike alternated snapping necks and stabbing the demons with a heavy dagger, concentrating on bloodlust that was adding to his anger.  
  
The skies darkened even more, plunging the high school parking lot into almost total darkness. In the back of her mind, Buffy was hoping that Willow knew a spell to illuminate the battlefield, so her warriors knew what they were fighting. A jeering laughter sliced through the sounds of combat, the First appeared in front of Buffy, a taunting smile on its face. "You can't defeat me little girl," it taunted, taking on the form of Joyce Summers, a halo of blonde hair framing her cold eyes. Buffy grimaced, "wrong answer," she snapped before charging at the beast, her sword raised. The First dodged her blows easily and Buffy poured every ounce of herself into the fight, her stabs more aggressive then ever before. She was so focused on her battle that she failed to notice the chilling déjà vu of having a sword fight in front of the entrance to Hell. Slowly, the chaos around her faded away until it was Buffy and the First squared off against each other. Joyce's face contorted into an evil sneer, "I told you it was useless to fight me. You and your little band of misfits don't stand a chance."  
  
Buffy was caught off-guard, it was hard to continue assaulting something that looked and sounded so much like her mother. The First used her momentary falter to gain the upper hand, launching herself onto Buffy and knocking her to the ground. For the first time in her life, Buffy couldn't muster the strength to fight back; she was tired beyond the point of exhaustion. An evil glint flickered in Joyce's eyes, her hands wrapping securely around Buffy's slender neck and choking the air out of her. Buffy's eyes rolled back in her head as the iron fingers clenched her throat; she could feel the welcoming blackness of unconsciousness closing in around her. A blur of black and brown crossed Buffy's field of vision, relieving the pressure on her airway and knocking the First to the ground. Gasping for air, she propped herself up on one arm, coughing violently. She looked around, trying to find out who had saved her.  
  
To her surprise, it was Faith who was raining punches down on the First, who had taken the form of a tall brunette that had to be the rogue Slayer's mother. They had moved closer to the fiery portal, each blow moving Buffy couldn't move from her spot on the ground and she watched helplessly as Faith tackled the First. Their combined momentum sent the two hurtling into the Hellmouth, Faith's chocolate eyes locking with Buffy's before she fell. The younger Slayer's voice echoed in her mind, "my turn to do something heroic." Tears spilled over Buffy's cheeks as she stared at the swirling red vortex that had enveloped Faith and the First. All around her, the demon army vanished into thin air, leaving the bewildered Scoobies standing amidst piles of rubble. As the eerie ruby light faded, moonlight bathed the ruined high school, illuminating those who survived and those who had fallen.  
  
Slowly they began to move, converging in a tight circle around the spot where Faith had repaired the balance between good and evil by destroying the First. For a moment it seemed too simple, but in their hearts they knew that making the ultimate sacrifice is never an easy decision. Buffy tried to stand up but her aching muscles refused to comply. Sensing her distress, Spike appeared at her side, concerned etched over his face. "You alright pet," he asked, trying not to wince at the blood that was pouring out of a gash in her forehead. "Five by five," she whispered, before slumping over in a dead faint.  
  
Spike ignored the piercing pain in his ribs as he bent over to pick up Buffy's limp body. He hissed in agony as one of the broken bones stabbed at his chest. A hand reached out to steady the slender vampire and Spike turned, expecting to see Giles or Xander; he was shocked to see the dark brooding eyes of his Grandsire. "Easy now," Angel said gruffly before helping Spike pick up Buffy. "She's looks so tiny," Spike commented as they made their way towards the others. Angel nodded, turning his attention to Giles who was trying to survey the damage. "What now," he asked, deferring authority to the Watcher, knowing that he and Spike had less then an hour until the sun rose. Giles rubbed his left shoulder, grimacing as he felt the jagged edge of bone under his fingers. "We go back to Buffy's house," he began and then stopped, not sure what they were all going to do now that the First had been defeated.  
  
Looking around at the small group, tears filled Giles' eyes at how many they had lost; only a handful of his children remained. Willow was leaning heavily against Dawn, the pair gazing down forlornly at Kennedy's still body. Andrew was surrounded by the four remaining potential slayers crying over the wise-cracking geek who had treated them like they were some kind of mythical heroines instead of scared little girls. Fred was tying strips of her shirt around Gunn's upper arm, trying to stop some of the bleeding before they began the walk back to Revello Drive. Wesley was helping Xander get his bearings again; the construction worker's good eye was swollen to the size of an orange, rendering him temporarily blind while the Englishman tried to not put too much pressure on his broken ankle. Anya knelt beside Robin Wood, smiling forlornly as she reached over to close his unseeing eyes. It was Dawn who broke the silence, "did we win? Can we go home," she asked, her voice cracking under the strain. Giles nodded, "we won," he said with more conviction then he felt. Despite the overwhelming fatigue that swept through his body, he slipped his arm around Willow's shoulder, supporting the redhead and wrapping his other arm around Dawn. Taking one last look at the battlefield Giles murmured, "let's go home."  
  
***********  
  
Spike shook his head, trying to clear the troubling images of their battle with the First from his mind. It had been five days since Faith had saved the world and in those few days, Revello Drive had become less of a command center and more of a home. Buffy had been in and out of consciousness since the battle but no one dared to suggest that she should go to a hospital. Spike cleared his throat and began to talk to her again, hoping that the sound of his voice would persuade her to come back to the world of the living. "Well pet, the last of the potentials left this morning, said she was going back to Cleveland and to tell you she said thanks for everything. Angel's people took her to the airport and then they drove back to LA. But you need to wake up ducks, because Peaches said he won't leave without saying a proper goodbye. And I can't deal with him in this house anymore; even the Nibblet thinks he's moody." Spike paused to chuckle at the irony of a hormonal teenage girl telling the soulful Angel that he had mood swings.  
  
When he looked back over at Buffy, she was staring at him, her green eyes wide at the sight of him sitting in front of her, a soft smile dancing lightly over her face. "Hey," she murmured, squeezing his hand affectionately. Spike's smile stretched across his face, a genuine smile that lit up his blue eyes like twinkling stars. "Hey yourself luv," he said, "how're you feeling?" She screwed up her face, "like I got hit by a bus," eliciting another chuckle from Spike. "How'd we do," she asked, her tone turning serious. Spike looked away, not ready to answer her questions about the battle. Noticing his reluctance, Buffy sighed heavily; she didn't really want to know all the grisly details but felt that it was her duty as commander to ask. "Come here," she ordered gently, patting the spot on the bed next to her. Spike raised his scarred eyebrow and she swatted his chest gently, "I just want to lean against you, listen to you talk. For a minute I didn't think I'd ever see you again." She leaned against his body, mindful of her still tender muscles, relaxing in his protective embrace. "Takes a lot more then that to get rid of me pet," he quipped. Buffy snuggled her head into the crook of his neck, "good," she murmured before drifting off to sleep.  
  
The digital clock on Buffy's nightstand read 10:43 when she opened her eyes, her face pillowed against Spike's chest. "Mmm, this is nice," she whispered sleepily, loving the way their bodies fit together, "a girl could get used to this." Spike dropped a gentle kiss on her blonde curls, "could probably arrange something luv." She stretched languidly, reaching up to capture Spike's lips in a passionate kiss. 


	2. Good Morning?

It was a little after one when Buffy and Spike finally left her room. He had gone downstairs a few minutes before to tell everyone that she was finally awake, but the raised eyebrows and ill-concealed smirks told him that the message was already old news. "I'm hungry," Buffy said absently as they walked down the stairs. Spike bit back a teasing remark about her needing to get back to a healthy size, instead commenting, "Red was whipping something up when I left. Nothing like French toast at 1:30 in the bloody morning, huh pet?" Buffy raised her eyebrow cockily, "food criticism from the man who eats deep-fried onions?" Before Spike could protest, she tightened her grip on his bicep, the corded muscle rippling beneath the thin fabric of his t-shirt.  
  
Despite the late hour, light filled the entire house, giving the foyer a soft glow. As they walked into the kitchen, Buffy's hand traced idle patterns on Spike's shoulder blades. His arm was wrapped possessively around her waist, the tips of his fingers teasing the bit of her tanned stomach that peeked out from beneath her tank top. Buffy smiled, noticing that the atmosphere around her had changed; the omnipresent trepidation before the Battle had been lifted, leaving a tranquil peace. She paused in the doorframe of the kitchen, watching her friends flit around the small space as though it was perfectly normal to make breakfast in the middle of the night. Xander and Dawn were sitting at the table laughing and bickering about something, while Giles leaned against the central island just watching. Anya had her head stuck in the refrigerator and she was asking Willow what kind of bread she needed. The Wiccan rolled her eyes in amusement, answering Anya's question without taking her eyes off the sizzling frying pan. Angel had his back to the Scoobies; he was staring blankly out the back window, waiting for the microwave to finish heating his midnight snack.  
  
Spike let go of Buffy's waist, giving her a gentle push into the bustling kitchen. She licked her lips and chirped, "hi guys," her voice perkier then it had been in weeks. The light din of conversation stopped abruptly, all eyes turning towards the petite blonde. Dawn let out a squeal, launching herself into her sister's arms. Blinking back the tears that were threatening to overflow, Buffy squeezed Dawn tightly. She smoothed her sister's chestnut hair, resting her cheek against Dawn's head. The teenager broke the embrace to lightly smack her sister on the shoulder, "that's for scaring me like that," she snapped, but there was no malice in her voice. Buffy ruffled Dawn's smooth hair, "love you too Dawnie," she muttered, her eyes dancing with laughter. Spike just leaned against the doorframe, content to watch Buffy embrace the people she loved and would die to protect. Hugs and tears continued to fill the kitchen, excited voices clamoring for a moment of the Chosen One's attention. Angel remained fixated next to the sink, pretending to be completely absorbed by the garnet liquid in his coffee cup, but really watching his Grand-Childe carefully. He did not understand the relationship between Buffy and Spike, but knew that this was not the time to confront her about it.  
  
Wriggling out of Willow's crushing hug, Buffy turned to Giles. The former Watcher was perched on a stool, cleaning his glasses furiously. She laid a tiny hand on his arm, craning her head to meet his downward gaze until teacher and student were eye to eye. "We won," she said, it was more of a statement then a question, just something to break the awkward silence that existed between them. He nodded, not knowing what to say, there were so many questions that he wanted to ask but this was not the right time for them. "I'm proud of you Buffy," he said, wrapping his right arm around her, mindful of his mending shoulder. She smiled, "thanks Giles." Raising her voice slightly, Buffy asked, "now not to break up the big welcome back party, but I was told that there was breakfast for the conquering heroes." Willow broke in, sliding a plate piled high with food onto the table, "here you go, fabulous French toast that is completely magic-free and only slightly singed. And what I think is bacon and some orange juice that we found." Buffy giggled, digging headfirst into the meal, "thanks guys," she mumbled between mouthfuls.  
  
The next few hours passed quickly and soon pale pinkish purple rays of light began to streak the sky. Piles of dishes sat forgotten in the sink and several glasses littered the countertop. The house was silent, all its occupants asleep after a long night of catching up. In the living room, Buffy was curled up next to Spike on the couch, her feet tucked neatly under her body and her head nestled against his shoulder. Angel was slumped in one of the smaller chair, he had somehow fallen asleep in the tiny desk chair and no one had moved him to another one. Xander was stretched out in the armchair across from the vampire, his legs hanging over the armrest and his feet grazing the coffee table. On the dining room table, Giles lay draped over a pile of books; he had been researching the First, making sure that the beast was indeed gone for good, when he had succumbed to exhaustion. Willow was stretched out next to her laptop, too tired to scour the Web in search of obscure prophecies. Upstairs, Dawn was nestled amongst the sea of stuffed animals and pillows that covered her bed. Anya was in a half-sitting position on the floor with her back braced against the teenager's bed, her head resting on her knees.  
  
Spike felt Buffy shift in his embrace and tipped his head sideways to gaze down at her. "Good morning," she whispered, trying to assure herself that she wasn't dreaming. Spike kissed her nose, "good morning to you too, pet. Although by my internal clock, it's more like mid-afternoon." Moving his lips downward, he brushed feather-light kisses over her lips and chin, eliciting a soft purr from the woman beneath him. "That's because you're weird," she murmured softly, turning her head to capture his lips between hers. Spike chuckled, breaking the kiss to look into Buffy's green eyes. "But you love me," he muttered, nibbling gently on her earlobe. She sighed in contentment, arching her head back to give Spike better access, "you've got me there." Spike growled in mock-frustration, "say it again," he ordered, his voice rough with adoration. Buffy quirked her eyebrow playfully, "you're weird," she teased, her eyes dancing with laughter. Two can play that game, he thought as he nipped at the sensitive spot right above her jugular vein. "Spike, stop," she moaned, feebly protesting the exquisite torture he was putting her through. His eyes twinkled with amusement, "quiet now luv, don't want to wake up your mates." She shot straight up, noticing for the first time that they were not alone; a rich blush colored her cheeks as Spike's lips twitched in silent laughter. "Relax sweetness," he murmured in her ear, "they won't wake up as long as you're quiet." Buffy bit back a sarcastic comment, losing all train of coherent thought as Spike continued to kiss her lips, his icy fingers flitted over her exposed collarbone leaving a thin trail of goose-bumps.  
  
Buffy moaned into Spike's mouth, her eyelids fluttered shut as she lost herself in the desire coursing through her. Breaking the kiss she squirmed in his lap, swinging her left leg over his body so she was straddling his muscular body. "I love you," she purred, leaning in to kiss him again, but he ducked his head away, "say it again." She feigned a pout but complied with his request; when he looked at her, his azure eyes filled with adoration, it was impossible to deny him. "Love you too Buffy," he rasped low in his throat, "love you so much." She smiled in contentment before sliding her hands up his chest, sliding the black cotton shirt over his alabaster six-pack.  
  
Before Spike could divest himself of the t-shirt, a low "ahem," cut through their passion-hazed minds. Buffy froze for a moment before swinging her legs around until she was sitting on Spike's lap, a guilty expression on her face. She kept her eyes trained on the Oriental rug in front of her, embarrassed that she and Spike had been groping each other on the sofa while people were sleeping three feet away from them. Angel shifted uncomfortably in his chair, not really knowing what to say to the blonde couple. The arm encircling Buffy's waist tightened possessively as Spike stared at his Grandsire, his eyes challenging the older vampire to say something. If possible, Buffy's face flushed an even deeper shade of maroon, looking everywhere except at Angel. "I'll be right back," she squeaked, leaping off Spike's leg and practically sprinting towards the bathroom, leaving the two vampires to stare at each other across her living room.  
  
Spike raised his scarred eyebrow and sneered at Angel. "Like the show mate," he snapped, his entire body poised for the seemingly inevitable fight with the one person he could never completely replace in Buffy's mind. To Spike's surprise, the elder vampire crossed the room and sat next to him. "Did you mean what you said," he asked his voice low and melancholy, "do you love her?" Spike swallowed nervously and lacking a sarcastic barb, he answered honestly, "with all my soul." The answer seemed to please Angel, "you're a good man William." His expression changed and he clasped Spike's shoulder firmly, "but I swear if you hurt her, I'll stake you myself." Spike nodded, watching Angel walk in the direction of the kitchen. Once the taller vampire had vanished from view, Spike allowed himself to release the breath of air he had been holding. A slightly goofy grin spread across his face when he thought about Angel waking up to the sight of Buffy wrapped up in the arms of another. "Poor sod," he murmured with genuine sympathy, knowing how much it hurt to not be first in the heart of his beloved; for years he had walked in the shadow of all the men Buffy had loved and knew how lonely it was to not be the one she needed.  
  
Thick shades covered the kitchen windows, shielding the room from the brilliant sunlight outside. Buffy had her back to the doorway, rubbing a terry cloth rag over the dripping ceramic mug in her hands. For a moment Angel just stood cemented to the floor, watching her humming softly to herself as she dried the dishes. He knew that it was Spike who made her glow with contentment; Buffy exuded a blissful happiness that he had not seen in years. Buffy had wiped all the remaining water droplets off the dishes and was stacking them carefully in a cabinet when she noticed the dark-haired vampire. Her cheeks blushed crimson again but she moved closer to him. "Sorry about that," she began, hating the way her voice cracked. Angel shook his head swiftly, resting his hands on Buffy's shoulders and brushing aside anything else she would have said. He looked down at her, noticing for the first time that she was a different person, the naïve teenager he had fallen in love with was just a memory. "Are you happy," Angel asked, needing to hear her say the words before he could move on with his life. She nodded, "I love Spike. He's a good man and I love him." Angel studied her for a long moment before gently grazing her cheek with his lips, "then I wish you the best." Tears burned the back of her eyes and Buffy wiped them away with a shaky hand, half-heartedly cursing her emotional instability. A look passed between the former lovers, one of understanding and of closure. Angel smiled warmly at the petite blonde in front of him, finally ready to let her go. Grabbing a paper towel off the counter, Buffy dabbed at her eyes, laughing self-consciously. "I hate crying, makes me all puffy and red," she explained, moving to throw away the wad of tissue.  
  
"You still look gorgeous to me," a voice purred in her ear, causing Buffy to squeal in shock. Spike wrapped his arms around her waist pressing his chest against her back, as he smoothed errant blonde strands away from her neck. Buffy twisted in his embrace, snaking her arms around his neck, "you're incorrigible," she murmured. He tipped his head until their foreheads touched, "only when I'm around you, luv." Buffy smiled before looking around the empty kitchen, "where's Angel? Don't tell me you scared him off. He's probably traumatized from before." Rich laughter filled the kitchen, "I doubt that we caused too much permanent damage, sweetness. But he did mention something about packing to go back to LA." Buffy processed the information, her green eyes dancing mischievously, "just a few more people to take care of and we can have the house to ourselves." Her peroxide blonde lover growled low in his throat, raining kisses across her collarbone and down her shoulder, his hands fusing their bodies together. "Anything you want to do, once we're alone," he teased, not really expecting a response. When Buffy leaned in and whispered her wish into his ear, it took all of Spike's self-control to not throw everyone out at that moment. He gripped the counter with white knuckles, "what the bloody hell are you trying to do, kill me," he hissed in anguish.  
  
Buffy batted her eyelashes coyly, "patience pet," she quipped, throwing his own words back at him before ducking under his arm. She smiled at him, wiggling her fingers in a wave before going upstairs to wake up the rest of the house. Spike slumped to the floor, his back braced against the cabinets. "Women," he moaned, Buffy's words repeating in his head; 'I want you to make love to me,' she had purred, knowing how much the simple phrase would affect him. He banged his head backwards against the cabinet face, "how does she expect me to be patient when she keeps saying things like that?" Dawn stood next to the stove, watching Spike smash his head against the cabinet and moan about Buffy being cruel. Her lips twitched in amusement, "everything ok Spike," she asked, barely able to conceal the laughter in her voice. Spike cringed and inched one eye open to look at Dawn. The teenager's arms were crossed over her chest, a knowing smirk on her face. "Wipe that smug look off your face Nibblet, it's not what you think," Spike grumbled, pulling himself off the floor. "Ah-huh, right," she said, not really agreeing with the black clad vampire, "whatever you say."  
  
Spike clenched his hands into fists, "I swear, you Summers women are going to kill me," he growled in frustration. Dawn locked eyes with him, looking older then her sixteen years and shook her head in pity for the love-struck vampire. "We'll probably try," she deadpanned, grabbing a bowl out of the cabinet next to the sink. Pouring Lucky Charms into the bowl, she frowned at Spike as he stole a marshmallow. He tossed it into the air and caught it between his teeth. Moving towards the refrigerator, he grabbed the coffee pot from the counter and filled it with water. "Don't want to piss off the Chosen One," he explained with a wry smile. Dawn nodded appreciatively, "yeah, Buffy without coffee is not a happy girl."  
  
As if on cue, Buffy breezed into the room, "talking about me again," she asked, sliding onto a stool, propping her elbows up on the tiled island top. Dawn opened her mouth to reply but was cut off by a bleary eyed Giles who had just stumbled into the kitchen. "Coffee," he asked hopefully and the teen shook her head. "Sit down, it'll take a minute or two," she said, turning back to the refrigerator to find milk for her cereal. "Or eternity if you never put the coffee maker on," Anya chirped, appearing beside Dawn. Spike looked at her and shrugged. "So I'm taking requests for breakfast, what's everybody want," Willow asked, running her hand through her tangled red tresses. Xander slipped into a kitchen chair, "what'd we do to deserve quality cooking twice in one day," he asked, suppressing another yawn. Raising his head from between his hands, Giles answered, "we saved the world." Buffy looked around the small kitchen at her friends, a warm smile illuminating her face. "Yeah, we did," she whispered, entwining her fingers with Spike's as he stared at her in adoration, "we all did." 


	3. Moving On

Sunbeams dipped below the horizon, bathing the streets in a rosy glow as another day ended. Dawn sighed softly, gazing out her bedroom window at the purple and blue streaked sky. A sad smile drifted over her face, her gray- green eyes falling away from the blanket of darkness outside. Her left hand fiddled with the hem of her purple ribbed tank top while her right brushed aside the tear that was slowly traveling down her cheek. The inside of her room was bathed in shadows, but Dawn could make out the boxes and duffel bag that littered her floor. She sighed again, pushing herself away from the window and turning her attention towards the half-filled box of clothes. Her head was buried inside the cardboard box, searching for a sweatshirt when her door swung open.  
  
Spike leaned languidly against the doorframe; his bare forearms were crossed, the pale limbs shining brightly against the ebony cotton of his shirt. "Almost done packing, Nibblet," he asked, tilting his head to survey the now bare bedroom. Dawn nodded, slipping the maroon University of Sunnydale sweatshirt over her head. "Yeah, I'm almost ready," she replied, "just gotta close up these boxes." Spike reached across the doorframe, switching on the light, "go get something to eat with your sis, I'll take care of these." Scrunching up her face in confusion, Dawn cast a sideways glance at the vampire. "You feeling alright Spike," she teased, "is the Big Bad actually offering to do manual labor? Sounds pretty suspicious." Spike groaned, his hands clutching his head tightly in mock frustration. "Get going," he growled, "before I change my bloody mind." Knowing better then to argue, Dawn slipped past him, her chestnut hair streaming behind her. "Thanks Spike," she chirped, as she dashed down the stairs.  
  
Over her ceramic coffee mug, Buffy raised a questioning eyebrow at her sister. "What'd he do now," she asked, taking a tentative sip of the steaming liquid. Dawn told her, and promptly burst out laughing at the face Buffy made when she tasted her bitter coffee. "Can't deal without the sugar, huh," she asked sympathetically. Buffy scowled, "first the stupid idiot insists on packing up all the furniture three days in advance. Then he decides to pack my clothes so I have nothing to wear. And then this morning I discover that Mr. Ingenious cleaned out the fridge, so I have to drink black coffee because he threw away the milk and did who knows what to the sugar." Pausing for a breath, she shot an irritated glance at Dawn. The teenager's shoulders were convulsing in laughter, sporadic giggles escaping her mouth as she leaned on the counter for support. "It's not funny Dawnie," Buffy protested weakly, her own voice brimming with laughter despite her efforts to sound indignant.  
  
Dawn hopped up on the countertop, her legs dangling idly in the air. "Whatever," she said, wiping away the moisture that had formed beneath her long eyelashes. Buffy took a deep breath before taking another sip of her coffee, shuddering as it traveled down her throat. "He so owes me a Starbucks white chocolate mocha," she complained, forcing one last swallow that drained the cup, "maybe two." Rinsing out the mug, Buffy dried it with one of the paper napkins from the pile sitting next to Dawn on the counter. She wrapped it up in a dry napkin and rolled the paper-covered mug in a sheet of bubble wrap, before putting it in the box sitting on the island. "So are you almost ready to go," Buffy asked, resting her hand on Dawn's knee. The teenager nodded hesitantly, "I guess so. It's just so weird to be leaving but it wouldn't be the same without everyone here." Buffy's lips formed a tight smile; she understood exactly what her sister meant. Sunnydale had been their home for seven years and while it was sad to leave so many memories behind, she knew that it would never be the same now that the Scoobies had dispersed.  
  
It had been four weeks and three days since the First had fallen, and in that time so many things had changed. Somehow all of the Scoobies had settled back into some sort of routine and state of normalcy. The house on Revello Drive had fallen silent; slowly everyone had trickled out until Buffy, Spike and Dawn were the only people left. Angel had been one of the first to leave; he had a business to run in LA and was anxious to get back to his son. After a bit of convincing, Anya had agreed to go with him, there was nothing tying her to Sunnydale and she was anxious to start a new chapter in her life. Willow had moved into her own apartment, a few blocks from the University campus where she would be continuing her computer classes in the fall. Xander went to San Francisco; he had some family in the city and needed to find a new occupation now that he could no longer continue construction work. The last to leave the former campaign headquarters was Giles; he knew that there was nothing waiting for him across the Atlantic. His place was no longer with the Council, the handful of members who had survived needed to focus on rebuilding, something he had no interest in. He had gone back to England after several weeks of debate, confessing to Spike that he was going to enjoy retirement in the countryside.  
  
Buffy jumped three feet in the air as a cool hand made contact with her elbow. She turned to face Spike, her eyes dancing with laughter. "Don't sneak up on me like that," she said, playfully smacking his shoulder as his arms snaked around her waist. Spike leaned forward until their noses were touching, his blue eyes penetrating Buffy to her core. "I don't sneak," he murmured, his voice low and seductive, "not my fault you're not paying attention." Raising a questioning eyebrow at her lover, Buffy clasped her hands at the back of his neck. "Not your fault," she teased, her voice rough in a poor impersonation of Spike's accent. Dawn broke the tender moment, leaping off the counter, her feet hitting the floor with a thud. "Don't you two ever get tired of that," she complained. Spike shook his head, planting a quick kiss on Buffy's cheek before releasing her. "Nope," he answered, "could have eternity and still wouldn't be enough." Buffy's cheeks flushed at his honesty and Dawn scowled, wishing she could find someone who loved her like that. Grabbing the box off the island, Spike hefted it into his hands, "you ladies ready? Because the East Coast is calling and I suggest we get going."  
  
Dawn squealed with excitement, holding the door for Spike before the duo made their way out towards his Desoto parked at the curb. Spike stopped beside his car, making sure that the small trailer was securely hitched to the back of his archaic black machine. Leaning against the side door, he lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. Back inside the house, Buffy smiled, taking one last lingering look at the empty room, engraving every detail into her mind. She had spent almost a third of her life on Revello Drive, these rooms held more memories then she could count. In her mind's eye, she could see the years pass before her, images of the not-so-distant past. There was her mom making popcorn in the kitchen while Dawn and Buffy huddled on the couch, anxious to start watching the pile of romantic comedies next to the TV. In the same kitchen, Spike sat at the table with Joyce, sipping hot chocolate and talking about her work in the gallery. In the living room, the Christmas tree tipped towards the window as Dawn hung the small glass ornaments complaining that she couldn't reach the top branches. Rain fell outside as Joyce thumbed through a mystery novel, a bright orange scarf on her head as she rested on the sofa. Two years later, Buffy sat on the same couch and asked Spike to stand beside her against the First's army. The dining room table covered with piles of textbooks as Willow, Buffy and Xander studied for their final exams, all the while chatting about graduation. The carpet covering the wooden steps in the foyer were worn thin, from too many days of running down to grab breakfast before homeroom and from too many nights of trudging up, weary after a moonlit patrol.  
  
Buffy paused in the foyer, tears brimming in her eyes as she grasped the brass doorknob firmly. There were so many memories in her house, but she needed to break with the past and move on. Nothing was binding her to Sunnydale; the First had been defeated, the Hellmouth was silent and demonic activity was practically non-existent, the high school had been blown up again, and her friends were all moving forward with their lives. After several days of arguing, pleading and talking, Buffy and Spike had finally decided to move to the Northeast. Giles had an old friend living in Rhode Island, and the two Englishmen had arranged jobs for the couple, found them a place to live and enrolled Dawn in school. "Time to get going," she whispered to herself, blowing an air kiss to the empty house before walking out the door.  
  
Dawn was already stretched out in the backseat amid a sea of shopping bags, backpacks, crates of cds and coolers filled with blood and soda. Buffy smiled fondly at her sister before slipping into the passenger seat beside Spike. "All ready," Spike asked softly and Buffy nodded, a stray tear slipping down her cheek as they pulled away from the curb. "I wonder if we'll miss it," she mused, watching the dark streets of Sunnydale flash past them. Spike didn't answer, he was concentrating on getting the necessary momentum up in order to hit the wooden sign they were rapidly approaching. "Oh don't tell me you're gonna hit it," Buffy began. Her words fell on deaf ears as the Desoto plowed through the Welcome to Sunnydale sign, flattening it to the ground. Spike grinned at the woman he loved, "always hit the sign, luv, it's tradition." She nodded, curling up on the bench seat, her blonde hair spilling across his thigh, tucking her hands beneath her head for support. "Tradition, got it," she murmured before drifting off to sleep. 


	4. Thinking and Driving

Spike smiled grimly as he pulled onto the quiet street, the last few rays of sunlight fading away. The last hour had been city driving and he welcomed the calming reprieve of residential roads. Bloody suburbia, he thought as they drove past manicured lawns in front of moderately large houses. He shook his head ruefully, William the Bloody had been domesticated by the Slayer herself. I'm worse then the bleeding poof, he thought bitterly, his fingers curling tightly around the steering wheel. Buffy turned to Spike, noticing the way the muscles in his jaw kept clenching and unclenching. Ever since they had left California he had been unusually quiet, a condition that had worsened as the road moved them closer to their new home in Rhode Island. "You okay," she asked quietly, keeping her voice low so as not to disturb Dawn who was drinking in the sights outside the black-tinted windows.  
  
Nodding slowly, Spike focused his attention on the mailboxes that lined the street. He didn't want to miss the house nor did he want to get into a fight with Buffy. They had driven cross-country in a little more then three days and Spike wanted nothing more then to go to sleep. He had tried to hide his inner turmoil from the blonde beauty beside him but it got harder as the miles sped past. There were so many things he wanted to tell Buffy, they had been through so much together and yet he still didn't feel worthy of her love and respect. He had never been in a real relationship before; Drusilla and Buffy were the only women had truly loved, and they were as different as night and day. Dru had been psychotic; she asked little of Spike except his patience and the occasional declaration of love. Buffy, on the other hand, consumed Spike; their connection was passionate and intense, and he had to devote himself wholeheartedly to her in order to even try to keep up.  
  
This new chapter in their lives was something he was completely unprepared to deal with. In Sunnydale, their relationship had been easier and more familiar. Despite the almost daily bickering and their tumultuous past, Buffy and Spike had a connection that had been borne in Sunnydale. As they left the bright California town, Spike worried that things would be different between him and his Slayer. Even though Buffy had insisted that nothing had changed between them, the lingering doubts kept creeping into his head He had no idea what to expect nor did he know what was expected of him; the last thing Spike wanted was to disappoint his love, again. His mind began to drift back over the last few years in Sunnydale, remembering the night he first saw Buffy and how she had managed to turn his life upside-down.  
  
If Spike was honest with himself, he would have admitted that their connection had been forged long before Buffy had ever heard of Glory, the Initiative or Acatha. From the first time he had seen her at the Bronze, her golden hair spilling across her face as she danced with her friends, Spike had been enthralled. There was something about the almost predatory and sensual manner in which she moved that had drawn him, the Scourge of Europe, to the fiery young Slayer. The moment her green eyes drifted through the crowd, Spike had known that she was different from any other Chosen One. Her gaze scanned the throng of people in the Bronze, mostly high school students relieving academic-induced tension after a long week; she was searching for something out of place, he could see that plainly, even from his hiding place in the shadows. Half out of curiosity and half out of need, Spike had staged a vampire attack on an unsuspecting club patron. He needed to see how she fought and wanted to watch her dance in the darkness of the alley. When he had approached her, his leather duster billowing behind him in waves and a smart-assed remark rolling off his tongue about killing her, the defiant thrust of her chin and the fearless glimmer in her eyes had intrigued him. She was so much more passionate then any other Slayer he had met. He could easily sense the emotions that were rolling off her in waves, something that was rare amongst her predecessors. Most Slayers allowed the sacred responsibility side of their personality to take over their lives, leaving no time for any of the other things that normal teenagers did. Slayers were taught to be closed off from the outside world, but instead this fierce siren was a part of that world, she was immersed within it. In that instant, he knew that he would do everything possible to make her belong to him.  
  
Their initial attraction to each other had spent months hidden beneath his bloodlust and her ideas of duty. The alliance against Angelus had been the beginning of the end for Spike; he was playing with fire enlisting the Slayer's help against his Grandsire, but there was no other way to save Drusilla, his dark princess. Drusilla had known about the Slayer for weeks before she left Spike, she could sense the light that was slowly creeping through the blackened walls around his heart. Before she had left him on the park bench, her dark eyes had locked with his, in a rare lucid moment. Caressing his cheek softly, she whispered, "she surrounds you, devours you. You have let her destroy you." At the time he had no idea what Dru was mumbling about, but in hindsight it all made sense. Buffy had changed him, destroying the monster he had become over the decades and rekindling the man who had been almost completely forgotten.  
  
Something about her drew Spike in, he could not put into words the way he felt about the petite Slayer, no matter how many journals he filled with his hastily scrawled poems. He had been able to hide his desire for Buffy for a few weeks after he returned to Sunnydale without Dru. From the distance he had watched her, content to follow her every move and make sure that she was safe. He rationalized that she was going to be his third, so he needed to stake his claim and wait for the right moment. The Initiative had turned the tables on Spike, rendering him weak and completely dependent on Buffy and her friends. For months he had hated the commandos and the group of overzealous demon scientists who had put the chip in his head. The chip started Spike's descent into a world where he dared to dream that Buffy might see him as something more then just another vampire. That year had driven Spike almost to the point of madness with Willow's love spell and Buffy's disastrous relationship with the overgrown Boy Scout. The next year was no better, with Joyce's illness and Dawn's sudden appearance. Some days Spike could not understand how Buffy had survived everything that had been thrown at her; in her short life she had endured more pain and suffering then anyone should have to suffer in a century.  
  
Somewhere between helping the Scoobies, watching Passions and eating blooming onions at the Bronze, Spike had begun to realize that he was in love with the Slayer. The night she had come to him for answers about the last two Chosen Ones that he had killed, had been the turning point. Sitting on her back porch, his arm wrapped awkwardly around her shoulder, Spike had known that she was the one for him. Ironically it had been Glory's horrific torture that had given Spike the chance to prove his unwavering loyalty. He had protected Dawn and in the process had shown Buffy that he was so much more then another undead creature of the night. At first she had been reluctant to trust him but somehow she had begun to understand that he was different. The real turning point for him, the moment he realized that this was real, were those terrible moment after she leapt off the tower; as he watched helplessly from the ground below, he could feel his unbeating heart break into pieces. She fell like a swan, her white sweater extending over her arms like the wings of an angel, as she closed the rift between worlds.  
  
Their relationship had undergone another transformation after she came back from Heaven. She had been torn from Paradise by people who could not understand the weight she carried on her slender shoulders and she sought comfort in him. He was more then willing to offer his love as a salve for her wounds, hoping that his tender words would penetrate her cold heart. She never acknowledged their affair, making sure that Spike always knew how far beneath her he truly was. He could see it in her eyes though, in those precious seconds before she succumbed to the blissful calm. In that single instant, love flickered in her green eyes, but it was quickly hidden beneath closed lids as she searched for the serene peace that had been taken away. After a while, he needed more from her then the occasional half- hearted morsel of kindness; the torment had become too much to bear. As much as he begged Buffy for a crumb of affection, Spike craved more; he wanted to know that there was something between them that was worth fighting for, worth giving up everything in his undead life for.  
  
His soul had been another step closer to completing his transformation from vicious monster to honorable man. He had not gone to Africa to seek out a soul; he did not want redemption nor did he deserve forgiveness. Spike regretted everything that had happened between him and Buffy in the hours before he left Sunnydale. As much as he loved her, in a few minutes he had managed to destroy the trust and tentative understanding that their relationship had been build upon. Those terrible moments haunted Spike every day; he kept seeing the pain in Buffy's eyes and anguish that marred her delicate features. Spike was so afraid of the monster within him, not the vampire's demonic face but the vile animal that had wanted to hurt Buffy to make her see the depth of his own suffering. No matter what she said, no words could change what he had done nor could he ever forget that day. He wasn't worthy of her forgiveness nor was he worthy of her love. She deserved so much more then an ensouled vampire who could never walk in the sunlight beside her. Buffy was a goddess of the light and he was a creature of the darkness; he would never be good enough for her, there were too many things wrong with him and she deserved someone whole.  
  
So many things had changed between them, their relationship was no longer based on black and white rules of vampire and Slayer, of predatory and prey; there was so much gray space between them, vast rifts of unpredictable passion that neither talked about nor acknowledged. For the last few weeks, ever since Buffy's declaration of love on the eve of their battle with the First, Spike had been living with a terrible secret. He was scared, more terrified then he had ever been in his life. The thoughts plagued him daily, taunting him about his unworthiness, telling him that the Slayer deserved someone better. It was worse then being controlled by the First, at least then he had a face to put with the vicious words. Now the words were all in his mind, of his own creation; it was his voice, the rough London accent that was belittling him.  
  
A hand squeezed his knee gently, snapping Spike out of the turbulent sea of emotions and memories that he was struggling to stay abreast of. "You sure you're alright," Buffy asked, her faced twisted in worry, "you looked kinda spacey there for a minute." Spike shook his head, trying to clear the troubling thoughts out of his consciousness. There was no sense in worrying Buffy about the silly ramblings of his mind; she had enough to think about already. "Yeah, I'm fine, Slayer," he said shortly, turning off the car and swinging open the driver's side door. He stretched his legs, looking at the house in front of him; the colonial farmhouse was bathed in moonlight, illuminating the buttercream siding and the navy blue shutters. Moving around the car towards the trailer, Spike opened it up and began to empty boxes out onto the driveway. Dawn scrambled out of her seat to help the bleached vampire, while Buffy sat frozen in the passenger seat. Her lover's words kept repeating through her head, he had called her 'Slayer', a nickname she hadn't heard in weeks. Something was going on with Spike, she could sense it, but this was not the right time to bring it up. I'll ask him about it later, she thought as she moved out into the cool night air to help unload the car. 


	5. Family

The house was strangely silent, the only noise coming from the perking coffee pot in the kitchen. Boxes littered the entire first floor, stacked in the narrow hallways and piled against doorframes. Buffy stretched her arms over her head, wet strands of hair clinging to her bare shoulders as she padded down the hallway. This house was so different from the one in California; the ceilings were impossibly high, but the rooms were smaller and more confining. It had been a vacation house for a business associate of Giles' who was moving to Nevada and was thrilled to get it off his hands. The restored farmhouse was already furnished, which made the initial transition to the East Coast easier. Even though some of the rooms were too country-rustic looking for Buffy's taste, she was already thinking of all the exciting redecorating possibilities. Overall she was in love with the house; it had a comfortable homey atmosphere that was accented by its suburban location. Ever since the DeSoto had pulled into the driveway, Buffy had been in a state of awe. They had moved in almost nine hours ago, but she still felt like she was living in a dream.  
  
Buffy and Spike had moved boxes from the DeSoto into the house for at least three hours, just dropping one pile in the foyer and going back outside to pick up another. Dawn had helped them get everything into the house, before collapsing in the smaller of the two bedrooms. The excitement and the late hours had taken their toll on her, and Spike had insisted that they didn't really need any extra help. He had been distant the entire time they had been moving things inside and Buffy was hoping that some alone time would give them the chance to talk. Spike seemed to have other plans; after the last box was inside the foyer, he had kissed her cheek and mumbled something about going to bed. She had covered the few picture windows in the living room and the kitchen, the skylight in the bedroom and the circular window in the bathroom, before joining him in the master bedroom. Spike was already sprawled out on top of the comforter when she walked in, his head buried in the decorative pillows. She paused in the doorway, drinking in the sight of his black-clad body contrasting sharply against the red toile comforter. Draping a chenille blanket over his shoulders, she gently placed a kiss on his forehead before going back into the hallway to start unpacking the moving boxes.  
  
Three hours later, the smell of coffee permeated the small kitchen as the coffee pot sputtered out the last few drops. Unwrapping her favorite mug from the box marked "Fragile: Kitchen Stuff," Buffy crumpled up the bubble paper and tossed it on the counter. She poured the dark brown liquid into the blue mug, before reaching into the cabinet to pull out the box of sugar packets. Ripping open the white and blue paper, she dumped the sugar unceremoniously into the coffee and added a generous amount of half-and- half. "Now where the hell did I put the spoons," she asked the empty room, yanking open the drawers until she found the silverware. Buffy inhaled deeply, holding her steaming coffee mug under her nose; the enticing aroma of hazelnut filling her senses. Wisps of steam wafted out of the ceramic mug and she took a long swallow, savoring the rich flavor that enveloped her mouth. Closing her eyes, she wrapped her hands around the mug, lacing her fingers together as the caffeine flooded her system. The heat from the mug warmed her fingertips; the air conditioner had kicked on a few minutes before, and cool air was rapidly filling the kitchen. She leaned her back against the white countertop, taking slow sips of coffee.  
  
Almost all of the boxes except the ones labeled "master bedroom" and "Dawn" were in some stage of being unpacked. Scattered boxes covered the tiled floor, some empty and others still filled with newspaper and bubble wrap. The excitement of finally being in Rhode Island had made it impossible for Buffy to get any sleep. She had been emptying boxes for hours, as Dawn and Spike slept in their respective bedrooms. After her long shower, she was starting to feel the familiar twinges of fatigue. Placing her cup on the counter, she hoisted herself onto the white countertop, her legs dangling against the chestnut cabinets. The bottom of her yellow cotton pants covered her feet, giving Buffy the appearance of a little girl, as she perched atop the counter. She lifted her hair into a sloppy bun, securing the damp strands with her omnipresent elastic. Smoothing down invisible fly- away wisps with her left hand, she glanced around the kitchen, taking in every detail. Pale cornflower blue paper covered the walls, broken up by a creamy chair rail. Wicker baskets filled with flowers were printed on the top border, giving the kitchen a rustic and homey feeling.  
  
The soft padding of feet in the hallway interrupted Buffy's musings. Dawn wandered into the kitchen, her eyes bleary from sleep. "What time is it," she asked, surprised to see that her older sister was already awake. Dawn hadn't expected to see Buffy and Spike for at least a day or two, they hadn't had any alone time since before leaving Sunnydale. Buffy shrugged, "I dunno, probably a little after one." Raising her eyebrow curiously, Dawn asked, "did you sleep." When Buffy shook her head, Dawn hopped onto the counter beside her sister. "What's wrong," she asked, with a look that rivaled Willow's resolve face; there was no way Buffy was getting out of this conversation, no matter how awkward it was. Buffy sighed deeply, "I wish I knew Dawnie." She paused, staring off into space, not really seeing the table in front of them. Dawn stole a sip of Buffy's coffee, "is it Spike," she asked, knowing that he probably had something to do with whatever was bothering Buffy.  
  
Buffy's green eyes were empty and hollow when she looked at Dawn, trying to think of the right way to answer her sister's question without turning into a complete emotional wreck. Instead she ignored it, taking the blue mug from Dawn's hands, "don't drink coffee, it'll stunt your growth." Dawn leapt off the counter, opening two cabinets until she found the box of strawberry Pop Tarts. Her sister raised a skeptical eyebrow as she pulled out a pre-wrapped package, "this coming from the girl who's like a foot smaller then me?" Peeling back the silver cellophane, she bit into the white frosted treat and looked expectantly at Buffy who had uttered a mumbled protest. "It's five inches and the caffeine had nothing to do with it," Buffy insisted half-heartedly. The teenager nodded, "right. But you're avoiding the question. What's going on? You haven't looked this bad in at least three weeks." She slid into a kitchen chair and stared at her sister intently. It was true, Buffy looked so tired and defeated; it had been months since she had looked so lost. The last time Buffy had been so morose was right after Riley came back to Sunnydale with his new wife. Even though neither Buffy nor Spike would admit that something had happened between them that night, Dawn could sense that something was different after the Finns had shipped out. "Thanks Dawnie," Buffy said sarcastically as she stuck out her tongue, "you're absolutely amazing at the motivation speech crap."  
  
Seeing that she was not going to get off the hook that easily, Buffy also hopped off the counter. Picking up her coffee cup, she perched nervously in the chair across from Dawn. Her hands were clenched in tight fists, the knuckles pure white against the normally tan flesh. She looked down at her coffee, refusing to meet her sister's eye. "I think something's wrong," she began, her voice cracking with emotion as the tears began to build behind her eyes. Buffy kept her head trained on a spot inside her mug, continuing to talk more to herself then to Dawn. "With me and Spike, it's like I did something and suddenly everything's changed." She continued silently, not wanting to frighten her sister with the depth of her insecurity; I can feel how I'm pushing him away just like everyone else, it's just a little bit every day but the tension just keeps growing between us.  
  
Dawn sighed deeply; her sister was the most romantically challenged person she had ever met, followed only by one annoyingly perceptive peroxide blonde vamp. "Well obviously," she snapped, pausing to tear a corner off her breakfast treat. Crumbs spilled over the table as she popped the piece into her mouth. Buffy's eyebrows shot upwards and she looked at Dawn in astonishment, not believing what she had just said. "What," she sputtered. Buffy had expected sympathy not bitter honesty. Shit, Dawn thought, I need to fix this before she tries to kill me. "I mean, you guys just moved across the country, so obviously things are going to be different," she stammered anxiously, trying to do some quick damage control. Buffy looked back at her coffee, understanding what Dawn was saying but not really believing a word. In the back of her mind was a terrible fear that Spike was slipping away, her love wasn't enough, she wasn't enough. "Whatever Dawnie," she murmured, her eyes glazing over into a look that everyone had become familiar after her abrupt departure from Heaven.  
  
"You and Spike are absolutely impossible," Dawn swore, pushing her chair away from the table angrily. "I mean it's like a freaking soap opera with you guys. First it's all boy falls in love with the girl and she's oblivious. And does anyone say anything about their feelings? No! He just sulks around and you just pretend that nothing's changed, even though everyone can tell that they're both full of shit and lying to each other. Then once Spike finally gets sick of you, there's this little light bulb that goes off and you realize that you need him. So he leaves town and all you wants is for him to come back. But does anybody say anything about it? No! You just mope around and keep wishing that you could have a second chance to not screw up what had the potential to be an awesome relationship. Oh but wait, when Spike does come back from God-knows-where, do you say that you missed him, that you need him? No! Of course not! Because that would be too damn easy! So you ignore him and he pretends that he isn't still in love with you. Which is complete and total shit, because everyone can see that you're not over him and he isn't over you! So he broods in our basement and you mope around with these big dramatic sighs that are supposed to mean something. And do you ever talk to Spike about what's going on? Of course not! You two just stare at each other and hope that mind reading works, because not talking is just the key to all relationships. And then, after everyone around them is convinced that you're both too damn screwed up to ever get together, you go and finally tell him that you love him. So now you're finally together and everything's great for like three seconds until you decide to go all insecure girl and he gets all moody because you're withdrawing from him. And then you sit here and mope because you don't know what's going on! The two of you are absolutely fucking impossible," she screamed at Buffy.  
  
Tears were streaming down her face as Dawn ran back into her bedroom, slamming the door furiously. She fell onto the bed, sobbing into her pillows. Watching Buffy and Spike ignore each other reminded Dawn of the days before her parent's divorce. Hank and Joyce had stayed in opposite sides of the house for days, refusing to have any contact with the other. The day that they had told Buffy and Dawn about the divorce, Joyce had been sitting in the kitchen, her thoughts lost in a mug of tea. She couldn't look at her husband nor could see watch the tears streaming down the faces of her daughters. For one terrible moment, Dawn felt like she was reliving her parent's divorce all over again. The old feelings of betrayal and frustration had bubbled to the surface; she hadn't meant to lash out at Buffy, but the emotions had been too painful to contain any longer. She loved both Buffy and Spike, even after everything they had done to each other, she still thought that they were meant to be together.  
  
Her bedroom door creaked, a knock accompanying the opening door. "Nibblet, you alright," Spike's sleep-roughened voice asked from the hallway. She sniffed, "go away Spike," she muttered, her head still buried beneath a pillow. He chuckled softly, "'fraid I can't do that Bit. Mind if I come in?" When she didn't answer, he stepped through the doorframe, closing the door behind him. Dawn's room was bathed in shadows, the forest green drapes drawn tightly over the two windows. His bare feet sunk into the tan carpet as Spike crossed the room. He perched on the edge of her desk chair, facing the teenager who was flopped across her bed. The stillness of the room was broken by the occasional sniffle from Dawn; she refused to look up and met Spike's piercing blue eyes. A Kleenex was pressed into her hand and she closed her fist around it. Without lifting her head, she swiped at her nose and moist eyes. "Thanks," she mumbled. Spike smirked, "welcome. You want to explain to me what all that shouting was about?" Sitting up, Dawn drew her legs under her body and toyed with the fringed edge of her pillow. "Not really," she whispered softly, her anger spent. "That's what I figured," Spike said, getting out of the chair. "Bloody uncomfortable thing," he muttered, before beginning to pace the length of Dawn's room.  
  
As expected, after he had completed a few lengths of the room, Dawn sighed in exasperation. "All right I'll tell you, just stop with the pacing. It's freaking me out." Spike bit back a smile, standing at the head of her bed, his arms crossed over his chest. Raising his scarred eyebrow, he waved his left hand, "right then. Get on with it now." Slowly the entire story poured out; from Buffy's kitchen confession to the memories of her parent's divorce it had evoked. Tucking a strand of long chestnut hair behind her ear, Dawn licked her dry lips and stared off into space as she finished. Tipping his head to the side, Spike studied the girl in front of him, as he tried to decide what words would be a healing balm for her. As if she could read his thoughts, Dawn cut off any comforting nothings that Spike would have said. "Talk to her," she begged, "figure out what's going on. Because she needs you, we both need you. You're part of the family now." If vampires could blush, Spike would have been a flaming red. He had never felt such an overwhelming rush of acceptance; it was such a strange emotion for him to feel after so many years of being alone.  
  
He crossed the room and ruffled Dawn's hair affectionately. "You're pretty smart sometimes Nibblet," he said, brotherly pride swelling beneath his rough accent, "right perceptive too." She offered him a weak grin, her eyes red-rimmed from crying. He tossed his signature smirk at her, opening the door slowly. "Spike," Dawn called hesitantly. He turned to look at her, a quizzical expression on his face. "Tell Buffy I'm sorry," she asked before he walked into the hallway. "Tell her yourself," Spike said, closing the door behind him. The house was too quiet, he thought as he walked towards the kitchen. His ears strained for some sound of Buffy's, something to tell him which of the rooms she was in.  
  
The kitchen was empty but she had left the coffee pot on, so Spike knew that she had not gone too far. Pushing open the sliding door that separated the den from the rest of the house, he poked his head inside. "Buffy, you in here luv," he asked, careful to keep his voice steady. She was curled up on the sofa, her knees resting on the arm. Her body was in a tight ball on the edge of the couch and Spike could feel the tension that was radiating off her in waves. He closed the door behind him, crossing the room to kneel in front of Buffy. She tucked her head further into her knees, not wanting to look into his cerulean eyes. "Buffy," he asked again, tentatively touching her bare shoulder that peeked out beneath the white tank top. She swallowed over the lump in her throat; a Slayer should be able to deal with her relationship issues, she rationalized as she hesitantly looked at Spike beneath her thick eyelashes. The moment their eyes met, she began to tremble, the depth of his emotions plainly visible to her. Instead of anger, his eyes reflected sympathy and love. Spike sighed, climbing onto the couch beside Buffy and wrapping his arms around her trembling body. She leaned against his chest as fresh tears began to course down her cheeks. He kissed the top of her head, "it's alright sweetness, don't cry. It'll be alright. Whatever it is, we can fix it."  
  
Buffy let out a low sob, raising her face from the blanket of Spike's black shirt to look at him. "How Spike," she asked, "how can we fix me?" Her voice broke and she turned away from him, ashamed of her own insecurities, "tell me how we can make me good enough so you won't leave." Spike cursed under his breath, "Buffy, pet, look at me," he pleaded, "please sweetness, look at me." Her eyes were overflowing with tears when she finally lifted her chin. The sadness in her green orbs was heart-wrenching and Spike was filled with the overwhelming desire to take away her pain. He tightened his arms around her shoulders, drawing Buffy onto his lap. "Listen to me Buffy, I don't know what's going on in that head of yours, but it's completely off the mark. I'm not going anywhere, when I said I love you, I meant it. I'm not like all those other blokes, sweetness, I'm not going to leave until you throw me out. And even then it'd have to be on the receiving end of a pointy stake."  
  
Despite her tears, Buffy giggled softly. "What about all my insane insecurities," she pressed, "won't that get old after a few years." Spike quirked his scarred eyebrow and she ducked her head as an embarrassed flush colored her cheeks. He tipped her chin up gently, his lips gently grazing over hers, the tips of his fingers brushing stray tears off her cheeks. Buffy responded eagerly, her tongue reaching out to duel with his. When they finally broke for air, Spike looked deep into her eyes. He could lose himself in those green depths, just watching every emotion flicker through them. "I love you so much," he murmured. Buffy smiled, "I know and I still can't figure out what I did to deserve you." Spike looked down at the woman tangled in his arms, tucking a stray lock of blonde hair behind her ear. "Question is, what did I do to deserve you," he began. Before Spike could delve into the complexities of their relationship, Buffy pressed her lips to his. Her kiss was demanding, filled with passion and desire. Buffy wrapped her legs around Spike's waist, twisting their coupled limbs until they fell to the floor in a heap.  
  
Spike let out a low groan of protest as his back smashed against the hard floor, before Buffy's insistent lips ravaged his mouth again. "Comfortable," she quipped, straddling his torso, a coy smile dancing over her swollen lips. Her earlier emotional insecurity was nowhere to be found as Buffy flattened her body against Spike's, teasing the vampire through layers of cotton and denim. Letting out a low growl, Spike rolled their bodies, reversing their positions. He captured her mouth again before moving his attention down to her slender neck and exposed shoulder.  
  
In her bedroom, Dawn sighed in mock annoyance as she searched for the box that had her CD player in it. "I don't know what's worse, the silence or the moaning," she lamented, shaking her head. A triumphant smile crossed her face, "gotcha." Pulling the CD player out of the box, she plugged it into the nearest outlet and threw in the first CD she reached. Turning up the music, Dawn began to dance around the room humming along with the song. "Sometimes we get second chances," she sang softly, unpacking her new bedroom as the music muffled the sounds of Buffy and Spike's passion. 


End file.
